More coffee," Lark called to the servant outside his study door.
"Yes, sir," came the reply.
Lark rubbed his tired eyes. Old open books covered his desk.
He was preparing for The North Pack's delegation.
“These records better cough something up,” he grumbled, talking to the air.
The servant came back in, and handed him a mug.
Lark gulped so deep that he burned his tongue,
“Ouch,” he cried in pain.
He placed his finger on the tongue but it didn't heal as fast as it's supposed to.
Was his Alpha's strength weak?
“I'm just being tired,” he mumbled to himself.
He dragged another book over.
It was the palace marriage records, twenty years back.
His finger tracked the lines, names blurring together with the date.
“Ouch,’’ Lark screamed in pain. The letters from the book were bur
